From the Ashes
by Sue Penkivech
Summary: Can a friend from Jean's future save her from herself?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, Marvel Comics, or the Kids WB network that showed X-Men Evolution in our area. I wish I did, but no such luck. Special thanks to Jen1703, beta-reader extraordinaire, and to Kate, who came up with the idea in the first place and said I could write it.

**From the Ashes**

**Prologue**

He stared at the tombstone for several long minutes, not even reading the inscription. The words had been inscribed on his mind's eye for years already, there was no need.

"Jean Grey. 1984 – 2005. May She Find Peace."

Ororo had picked the tombstone, he knew. It was cold and gray, imposing, reminding him of one of 'Ro's storms. He'd never liked it; it seemed too unrepresentative of Jean, who had never been cold or imposing, even though he knew a lot of the Institute's students would have argued it. He'd known her better, though.

Logan has picked the saying, and for once he'd found himself in agreement with the surly, hardcore instructor. It fit. He hoped it was true, that Jeannie'd found the peace she'd lost in her life.

But he couldn't know, not really. And hopefully, after today, it'd all be academic.

He ran his hand through his dyed hair and shook his head. Most of the X-Men would think he was making a huge mistake, he knew. He'd proposed this once before, when Piotr Rasputin's sister Illyana had first manifested her powers, and been unequivocally shot down. Changing the past was neither possible nor desirable, Storm had argued, and Logan had threatened to skewer him if he ever brought it up again, so he hadn't.

But they'd been wrong. He knew it, deep down where it counted. They were wrong, and Illyana, tentatively approached a few months before, was in agreement. Not because she'd ever been fond of Jean, but because she hoped the lack of the Dark Phoenix would change the world for the better. He hoped so too, but it wasn't his real purpose. Somehow, he was going to save Jeannie from herself.

Taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly, Bobby Drake cast one last, sad smile at the grave of the woman who'd been teacher, friend, and the closest thing he'd ever had to a big sister. She'd saved his sanity, once. It was time to return the favor.

"Are you sure about this?" Illyana asked as he approached, one eyebrow arched curiously. She was dressed as he was, in clothes eight years out of style. He'd gotten his from a second hand shop when he realized the ones still floating around in his closet no longer fit. He suspected she'd bought hers from someplace where they were called retro; they didn't look quite authentic, but they were close enough. "I can't promise to get you to the exact time or place you specified, you know." She looked up at him, reaching out to smooth his collar which apparently didn't meet with her approval.

"I'm sure," he answered, smiling down at her as she stepped back, nodding at his appearance.

"The contacts are a nice touch," she observed, "but your eyes look better brown. So does your hair."

"Hey, beats playing Clark Kent and wearing glasses," he shrugged, scrubbing his hand through his newly dyed blondish hair. "You did a good job with it, anyway."

"Of course I did," she countered, a mischievous smile on her face that faded almost immediately, and he watched as she took a deep breath, centering herself. "Eight years back. The Institute, do you think?"

Bobby shook his head. "The university," he corrected, grinning a bit as he saw the corners of Illyana's mouth quirk upward.

"Hmmm, I may have to stick around for a while, then," she said as a circle of light appeared beneath them. "If I remember correctly, some of those guys were pretty hot…"

* * *

Jean sighed and exhaled slowly, her fingers rubbing at her temple, as the increasingly frequent scenario began to play out once again. 

"I _am_ focusing!" Bobby was protesting as he scrubbed at his eyes with his hand. "I'm trying…"

"Obviously, you're not trying hard enough," Scott disputed, then took a deep breath. "You can do this, Bobby. You _have_ done this – you did it last week in the Danger Room without thinking about it. If you can change to solid ice by reflex, there's no reason you can't do it intentionally."

"I can't!"

Jean shook her head and stood up, crossing the room to the pair. This was going nowhere except downhill, fast.

"Alright, Bobby," she said, forcing a smile despite the headache that the heightened level of stress in the room was producing. "Let's try something different." She cast a glance over at Scott as she felt his impatience through their link. No, I'm not babying him, she disputed. I'm just trying to help.

We were doing fine, Scott disagreed.

Jean chose not to reply, settling for rolling her eyes at him before turning back to Bobby. Scott, she knew, was suffering from burn out. Between college, leading the team, and picking up a lot of the slack that had resulted from the Professor's death the previous year, he had little time or patience leftover. She could sympathize. She was under much the same load, herself, but she held one advantage; she and Bobby had always gotten along. Whereas, when you mixed Bobby with Scott, even under the best of circumstances, you invariably got sparks.

"I _am_ trying, Jeannie," Bobby asserted, rubbing at his forehead. "It's just not happening."

"I know, kiddo," she told him, reaching over to ruffle his hair with her hand, her expression changing to one of concern as he winced. "Headache again?" she asked, studying his face. He'd been getting a lot of those, lately. Another thing she could sympathize with far too well.

Grimacing, Bobby nodded. "Yeah, and it's just getting worse," he admitted grudgingly.

That wasn't good. Now that she was closer, she could almost feel the pain radiating off of him in waves. Which was unusual in and of itself. Her shielding had improved over the years, and Bobby had fairly strong ones of his own, for a non-telepath. She shouldn't be receiving anything from him.

"Maybe we should take you down to see Hank," she suggested, closing her eyes as spots began swimming before them. "I don't think this is the best time for experimenting with your powers, not if you're not feeling well already."

"No! I can do this," Bobby insisted with a shake of his head.

Jean let out a sigh as she glanced over at Scott and saw him nod, whether from approval, agreement, or consent she wasn't quite sure. "Fine," she replied reluctantly. "Now, what was going on when it happened in the Danger Room?"

Bobby's brow furrowed. "I was…scared," he admitted, glancing self-consciously over at Scott before turning his attention back to her. "We were almost out of time, and the Sentinel we were fighting had just tossed Sam across the room. That was when he hit his head, remember?"

Jean nodded, smiling encouragement. "I remember. So, what happened next?"

"I don't know," Bobby admitted, closing his eyes as if trying to picture the scene. "I remember Sam hitting the wall, and my head hurt. Sympathy pain or something, I guess. I wanted to go and check on him; he wasn't moving. But before I could do anything, Amara hit the Sentinel from behind, and it started falling toward her instead of forward. She let out a scream –"

"She didn't," Scott disputed, looking over at Jean and shrugging his shoulders. "She stood there staring at it. I wasn't sure whether or not she was going to blast it again, so I went ahead and terminated the program before it could fall on her."

Jean nodded, remembering the tapes she'd seen of the session, but saw Bobby shaking his head.

"I would've sworn she screamed, or…something. She panicked."

"You don't know that," Scott pointed out, and Jean watched as Bobby took a step backwards, his eyes clamping shut.

"C'mon, man, cool it with the shouting, my head hurts enough already," he protested.

"I didn't shout," Scott countered, then let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, I've got a paper due in a couple hours. Are we going anywhere with this today?"

Jean shook her head, her hand rising up to rub at her temples. "I don't think so," she said, fixing Bobby with a glare as he opened his mouth to protest. "You don't want to go see Hank, fine. At least take a couple of the pills he gave you last time, okay?" She smiled at him, her eyes tired. "Preferably before you give me a headache that matches yours."

"Sorry," Bobby replied, his shoulders slumping, and Jean wrapped her arm around him, giving him a squeeze.

"Nothing to apologize for," she assured him as she led him out of the room. "Now, let's get you some pills, and you can go try to sleep it off."

Which sounded far too attractive, she had to admit as she escorted Bobby down the hall, leaving him at the door of his room once he agreed to cooperate and heading back to the rec room where she knew she'd find Scott. Sleep was a commodity she'd been doing without far too often lately, and the idea of curling up for a few hours and just collapsing, especially with the way her head was pounding, was tempting. Sadly, she had class in a little over an hour, and she an orientation session with the Institute's newest resident, Illyana Rasputin, before that.

"Get him settled in?" Scott asked as she entered the room.

Jean smiled wanly and nodded. "More or less. I left him at his door with instructions to take two pills and see me in the morning. I feel as if I might as well skip med school at this point," she joked as she sat down beside him on the couch, eyeing the coffee-table covered with texts warily. Homework. She had to get some of that done today, too, but she really didn't have time to start on it now.

"Mmmm," Scott responded distractedly, thumbing through one of the books. "We really should get Hank to take a look at him, if he's having headaches like that," he noted, sounding as if he rather doubted it.

"Trust me, he is," Jean replied, rubbing her forehead. Her own skull seemed to be pounding, though it was gradually getting better.

"Having trouble shielding?" Scott asked, looking up from his books, his forehead creased with concern.

Jean sighed and leaned against him heavily. Once, he would've just asked if she had a headache. More and more, lately, Scott was falling into his role as leader of the X-Men first, and only belatedly remembering that he was also her boyfriend. She couldn't even blame him, not really. His plate was as full as hers these days; as full as anyone's at the Institute, if she was going to be totally honest. With the Professor gone and Logan away in Canada, the faculty was hard pressed to keep up with the growing numbers of students, let alone the threats to mutant-kind that seemed to be springing out of the woodwork lately.

Of course, she told herself, letting a trace of annoyance slip out from the part of her mind where she normally kept it locked up, she was busy, too. And _she_ wasn't always thinking of him as a team member, first.

Nonetheless, she smiled half-heartedly as he shifted his arm behind her so she could settle against him. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Normally I don't pick anything up from Bobby, let alone a killer migraine. Maybe I'm just overtired."

"You've been working awfully hard lately," Scott agreed, absently stroking her shoulder, though she noticed he hadn't set aside his book. "Maybe you should take a few days off from school, get some rest."

"I can't," she argued, letting her eyes drift shut. "I've got a project due, and if I'm not there for my biological sciences lab, the Professor will just use it as an excuse to fail me – he's a friend of Kelly's. I'll be fine, maybe I'll catch a nap after class."

"Sounds like a good idea. Hey, don't you have something with Illyana before class?" he asked suddenly, and Jean popped her eyes open to glance up at the clock, then groaned. So much for Scott's concern over her headache _or_ her shields. Back to work, apparently.

"You're right, and if I don't show up, who knows what she'll get into," she admitted, grudgingly getting to her feet. The newest member of the Institute, and the only one who'd yet to manifest any sort of mutant ability, was trouble wrapped up in one small, blonde, thirteen-year-old package. Rescued the previous week from where she'd been held hostage by Magneto against Piotr's good behavior, Illyana Rasputin was quickly turning the Institute on its head. Nonetheless, they'd decided, based on discussions with Piotr, to let her stay at the Institute indefinitely. It was a decision Jean feared they were going to regret, considering the amount of trouble Illyana had already gotten into with Jamie, but she couldn't think of any way around it. Besides, the rest of the teachers thought she was adorable.

"I'll see you later?" she asked as she leaned in to brush her lips against Scott's.

"Mmmm. I've got to get this paper finished and sent off to my Professor, and then I have a team practice with the New Mutants. Maybe we could grab something to eat after that?" he replied, barely taking the time to glance up at her as he scribbled down a note, let alone attempt to return her kiss, and once again began flipping through his book.

"Fine," she replied, not even trying to hide her disappointment as she turned and headed out the door in search of her orientee. Apparently, she was on her own. As usual.

He was right about one thing, though. If her shields were acting up, she was going to have to take some time off to pull it together. The last thing they needed was a University-sized incident like the one she'd caused when her powers had last spiraled out of control.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own the X-Men, or Kids WB, or anyone else who actually makes money off of these characters.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the prologue, and to Jen1703, beta-reader extraordinaire!

* * *

**From the Ashes**

**Chapter 1**

"You know you can't stick around," Bobby was protesting as he and Illyana rematerialized in a little used hallway within the University Commons. Glancing around as they headed into the main open area, he was relieved to note their untraditional arrival had drawn no attention. In fact, the area seemed largely deserted, with only a study group of five or so students gathered around a table not far away as evidence that they'd arrived on a day when the Commons was open.

"Why not, it's not as if anyone here would notice," Illyana countered, glancing at the gray sky outside the floor to ceiling windows with a look of disgust. "Besides, I can be back before we even left, you know that."

Bobby took a deep breath and shook his head. They'd gone through this before, several times, but Illyana adamantly refused to accept his explanation. Probably because she simply didn't want to. In some ways, she wasn't much different at twenty-one than she'd been at thirteen.

"Because you're my ticket home?" he reminded her pointedly. "Look, you're the only one who knows where – and when – I am, and the only one who has any chance of remembering it if things _do_ change here. But if you hang out here too long, we have no way of knowing if you'll get back where we're from _before_ anything changes. Or…something like that, anyway," he reluctantly admitted. It made total sense in his head, but he had a hard time verbalizing it. Temporal anomalies made his head hurt, and attempting to talk about them was even worse.

"Well, where else would I end up?" she reasoned. "And so what if things change? Things are supposed to change, remember? That's why we're here."

"Why _I'm_ here," Bobby corrected, pausing to shoot a reassuring smile over at a younger boy carrying an armful of books who was looking at them quizzically. "Look, you've gotta go back, end of story," he continued, turning to look at Illyana.

Who, unsurprisingly, was no longer at his side. At least a quick glance around established that she'd simply wandered over to the coffee kiosk, not disappeared in a flash of light in front of witnesses. Sighing, he trudged over to join her, accepting the Styrofoam cup she proffered.

"Fine, I have to go," she conceded reluctantly as they stepped away from the stand, her eyes dropping down to peer at her coffee. "I'll leave myself messages in Limbo, just in case my memory gets altered to the point that I don't remember I left you here, but you know I can't promise that that'll work. This _could_ be a one-way trip." She looked up at him, her eyes uncharacteristically glazed with concern. "Are you sure you want to do this, Bobby? We can still turn around and go back now if you want."

"Are you kidding?" he joked, pushing aside any and all second thoughts that had arisen since they'd arrived and brushing his hand through his hair. "Waste a dye job like this, after all your hard work? Seriously," he added with a shrug, "I'm here, and I'm committed. Do your best to get me back, but if you can't…well, I knew that was possible from the first time we discussed it. I faked myself a birth certificate and stuff just in case, and I've got enough money to keep me going until I can find Jeannie or a job. Chris Knight," he grinned, using his assumed name for the first time, "will be just fine if it comes to that. Don't worry, k?"

"Chris Knight?" Illyana shook her head and giggled, and for a moment he saw a flash of the thirteen-year-old she'd been when she'd arrived at the Institute. She'd driven him nuts with all the giggling, until he'd realized she usually did it to hide what she was really up to. After that, they'd gotten along just fine. He had his own methods, after all.

"Watch _Real Genius_ a few too many times lately?" she asked, crystal blue eyes glistening mischievously.

Bobby shrugged and grinned self-consciously as they resumed walking. Before he could answer, though, a newspaper someone had abandoned on a nearby table caught his attention, and he stepped aside to pick it up, wincing as he caught the date. He had slightly less than two months – not exactly what he'd hoped for, but it could've been worse. Illyana's timing always grew more erratic the further back in time she went; they could easily have miscalculated entirely and showed up too late to do anything other than watch the aftermath. Shaking his head, he pulled his attention back to her question. "Hey, I suck at aliases, at least I'll remember that one. Tabby called me that for a month after I iced the Institute hallways for the mid-winter sports extravaganza."

Illyana stopped laughing and looked at him seriously, and for a moment he thought she was going to try to talk him out of it, or that she'd noticed the date on the paper and wanted to try again. But really, two months should be enough time. And the possibility of showing up to do anything other than watch the funerals didn't bear thinking about.

Much to his surprise, though, Illyana had something else on her mind.

"Tabby. Do you want me to tell her…"

Her voice tapered off on a questioning note, and Bobby shook his head and directed a wry smile at her. "She wouldn't get it anyway, you know Tabs. Besides, she's happy with Sam these days; no reason to get into the middle of things again." It wasn't as if there had ever been anything serious between him and Tabitha, not really. They'd dated off and on again over the years and wreaked more havoc between them than any of the Institute's faculty chose to remember, but the spark had never really been there, and they'd both known it, even when they'd tried their best to ignore it. She and Sam were great together, though, and he quite honestly wished them the best. "If they ask…" he began, suddenly realizing he might never see them again.

"If they ask, I'll tell them that you left all the appropriate messages when I dropped you off to deal with the 'family emergency'," Illyana finished for him with a crooked smile. "It's truthful enough, after all. And, if nothing changes and I can't find you for pickup, I'll wait a few weeks before telling anyone anything more." Her smile broadened, though to his eyes it looked slightly forced. "And then I'll disappear for a few weeks until they calm down."

Bobby nodded as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her fiercely, then pulled back a bit and pressed a kiss to her forehead . "'Bye, Yana. Keep Logan on his toes for me, okay? And don't let Jamie get away from you – one of these days he'll come to his senses."

Illyana let out a burst of laughter and grinned. "Oh, he knows where he's got it good. It's just a game, and we both know the rules. Sooner or later he'll grow up, and he'll realize we've outgrown it. Maybe," she added with a wink as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Or you could always take me up on the standing offer when you get back," she added almost as an afterthought, tossing him a saucy wink.

Despite the increasing lump in his throat, Bobby laughed and shook his head. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied with a grin, "though I still maintain you'd feed me to your demons within three weeks."

"True, but what a great three weeks they'd be," she retorted glibly with the ease of a conversation often repeated, and he chuckled as she gave him one last hug, then stepped back and disappeared in a flash of light.

Luckily, he noticed with relief as he glanced, no one had noticed the last. Leave it to Illyana.

Taking a deep breath, he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and trekked off down the mall of the Student Union, pausing to check the map on the wall to see where the Admissions Office was. Hopefully, with the forged transfer documents he'd brought with him, he'd be able to bluff his way into at least one of Jean's classes. It'd be a whole lot easier to run into her there than it would anywhere else.

Besides, getting right to work would keep him from thinking too much about the fact that, if everything worked as he hoped, he might not ever see the blonde teleporter, or any of his other friends, again.

* * *

Late. She was running late, as usual. 

Jean pushed her way through the doors of the Kelsey Science Building, pausing only to pull the hood of her jacket up over her still damp hair and to shift her backpack back over her shoulder. She'd been late for class, again, thanks not only to the irrepressible Illyana Rasputin but to Logan, who'd called to bring them up to date on the status of his mission in Canada. Even exceeding the speed limit by 20mph hadn't gotten her to the campus, let alone her class, on time.

Which meant, of course, that she'd been forced to listen to Professor Ortega ramble at length after class about the importance of timeliness, and how her powers didn't exempt her from the same standards applied to the other students. As if she'd ever expected them to. Sadly, the Professor had supported Principal Kelly's bid for election, and seemed to blame her, personally, for the fact that Kelly was back at Bayville High, still haranguing students rather than political officials.

And, thanks to his longwinded tirade, she'd missed her study group at the library. So much for timeliness being a priority.

Sighing, Jean trudged out into the pouring rain, barely resisting the urge to erect a telekinetic shield to keep from being soaked further. Given the fact the water was already being driven into the fabric, there wasn't much point anyway, and the taboo against using her abilities in public won out. Besides, there was little to no chance of obtaining anything resembling an A on her Psychology exam the next day without that study group, and she wasn't comfortable breaking in halfway through, even though she knew the others would understand. Not only would their momentum be broken, but they'd want her to relate her conversation with Prof. Ortega. And while the others knew she was a mutant, it wasn't exactly something she tried to remind them of regularly. She might as well just head home and dry off.

Her head bent against the rain that seemed to be falling at a thirty-five degree angle, and still feeling sufficiently guilty about skipping out that she was focused on whether or not she should head over to the library and try to slip in unobtrusively, she didn't see the figure coming toward her until he bumped into her, sending her stumbling sideways to land on one knee on the wet cement.

"Oh god, I'm sorry – here, let me give you a hand," a male voice said, and she pushed back her hood slightly and peered up at him, trying to suppress the surge of irritation that flooded over her as she accepted his outstretched hand and let him pull her to her feet.

"Well, I guess you made my decision for me," she said as she glanced down at her pants, now soaked from knee to ankle and shook her head. There was no way she was going to her study group looking like this. She wasn't even entirely sure they'd let her in the library looking like this. She might be able to remove the water telekinetically, but the dirt was going to need a washing machine. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the young man, who was still trying to stammer out an apology, and forced a smile. "I wasn't watching where I was going, either, so I guess we're both at fault. Don't worry about it, you just saved me the trouble of…," she trailed off as the repentant expression on his face faded, replaced by one of surprise and recognition. "I'm sorry, do I know you from somewhere?"

"What?" he blurted incoherently, then shook his head and smiled at her crookedly. "No, sorry - you just look a little like someone I haven't seen for a long time. I guess it caught me off guard. Look, I'm really sorry about this – let me buy you a coffee or something before you get sick, okay? It's the least I can do."

Jean eyed him curiously for a moment before responding. He looked vaguely familiar as well, though she couldn't think from where. He seemed to be a few years older than she was, and was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a somewhat beat-up jacket that proclaimed him a Mets fan. Not a professor, she didn't think. Maybe a grad student. Who, she noted absently, came complete with what was probably the most disarming smile she'd ever seen. Nonetheless, while a coffee sounded awfully attractive at the moment, if she headed home she could get a jump start on her homework and do some studying. That way, at least the evening wouldn't be a total wash.

"No, that's okay," she replied regretfully with a shake of her head as she wiped her dirty hands off on her pants for lack of better options. Seeing as they'd be going in the wash within five minutes of her arriving at home, it really didn't matter much. "Really, I don't live far from here and my classes are over anyway; I'll just head home and change."

Her accidental-assailant looked at her doubtfully for a moment, then shook his head, his face falling into a pout. "Oh, come on," he pleaded, and she suppressed a laugh at not only the look, but the water trickling off the tip of his nose. Honestly, if his eyes had been brown he would've looked like nothing so much as a half-drowned puppy. "I'll feel all guilty, thinking of you driving home soaking wet. At least let me get you something hot to drink on the way, huh? You're shivering," he observed with a gesture.

Jean nodded reluctantly, utterly unable to dispute that. "Fine, you can get me a coffee," she conceded, if only because standing out here in the pouring rain arguing it seemed pointless. "But then I really need to go."

"Not a problem," he assured her, his pout gone in a flash as he gestured toward the Student Union. "One coffee, coming up. My name's Chris, by the way," he added, almost as an afterthought as they began walking.

"Jean," she offered, smiling sideways at him around the edge of her hood as a thought occurred to her. "Tell me, is this some new pickup strategy I haven't heard of yet?" she asked, and was surprised when he let out a burst of laughter.

"No, this was just a random encounter with a klutz," he admitted, still chuckling. "I'll have to keep it in mind, though," he added with a mischievous grin as he opened the door, gesturing for her to precede him. "Never know when something like that could come in handy."

"Somehow, I think you'd better come up with another method," she joked lightly as she preceded him into the unusually quiet building.

"Awww, come on – you mean getting knocked to the ground in the rain doesn't sweep you off your feet?" he retorted, feigning amazement.

Jean laughed as the door swung closed behind them, taking with it sound of the rain pounding against the ground. "Well, speaking only for myself, I usually prefer not landing in a puddle as part of the process," she joked, and smiled as Chris nodded as if considering it seriously.

"So, that's what I've been doing wrong all these years," he said slowly, then flashed a crooked grin. "Thanks for the tip, I appreciate that."

"Anytime," she replied, her eyes glimmering with a hint of amusement. Somehow, she rather doubted he had anywhere near as much difficulty finding dates as he implied, unless he really was trying to meet people by knocking them into puddles. With only a quick glance down to determine just how much damage her pants had sustained and a wince as she confirmed that it was as bad as it had seemed, she followed him toward the coffee kiosk, where the girl taking orders raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Any preference?" Chris asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Jean nodded, smiling over at the kiosk worker. "One non-fat vanilla latte," she requested, and waited, trying to brush some of the dirt from her pants inconspicuously while her unexpected companion ordered a cappuccino and retrieved both drinks.

"Come on, sit down for a few minutes, maybe it'll ease up out there," Chris suggested, jerking his head over to a table a few yards away.

Jean rolled her eyes and smiled. "I said I needed to get going," she reminded him, but nonetheless led the way over to the table he'd indicated.

"Oh come on, you've got a few minutes," he retorted as he set down the cups and sat down. "I'm new to the campus, you need to take pity on me and give me the big picture overview."

"Oh, I do?" Jean retorted, raising her eyebrows in amusement as she slid into the seat opposite him. "When did that become part of the agreement?"

Chris laughed, and again Jean was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu, as if he reminded her of someone but she couldn't quite place who. Nonetheless, his smile was contagious and she found herself surrendering and countering it with one of her own.

"Well, ok, it's not part of the agreement," he admitted as he stirred a few sugar packets into the coffee and grinned over at her. "But hey, you can't tell me you'd just abandon me without any words of advice, would you? You seem nicer than that."

Jean rolled her eyes, but continued smiling. He really was attractive, she noted absently as she watched him raise his cup to his lips to drink. For some obscure reason, she was more comfortable with Chris than she would have expected, having met him less than half an hour before – and then it struck her.

She wasn't fighting off any sort of input from him, whatsoever. None. Curious, she reached out gently with her mind, just brushing against the edges of his – and found a shield fully as complete as her own, if not more so.

Whether he noticed her probe or simply the puzzled expression on her face she wasn't sure, but his eyes met hers with concern as he paused and set his cup back down on the table. "Is something wrong?" he asked slowly. "I mean, other than getting totally soaked and having to listen to me beg for a guide to the campus?"

"Oh no, nothing wrong," Jean assured him quickly, her mind spinning. The only explanation she could think of for him having shields like that was if he was also a mutant, more than likely one with psionic abilities of some sort. It was odd, though, that Cerebro had never detected him. While she didn't have the Professor's knack with it, she should have picked up on him if he was this close to the Institute.

Well, he _had_ said he was new to the campus, she reasoned, trying to push her immediate suspicions aside until she had more information. No reason to think that he was some sort of plant; perhaps he was just new to the area. Still, it would probably be better not to say anything, until she had more information. There was a difference between being cautious and being paranoid, even if it was occasionally a thin line.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, shaking her head as if pulling herself from her thoughts and smiling across the table at him. "My mind just wandered off for a minute. You're new to campus? Where are you from?"

"From New York," he replied, gesturing toward the Mets insignia on his jacket with a grin. "I spent the last couple years in Seattle, though – had to take some time off school for family stuff, and my parents moved out there after I started college. Figured I could use a change of scenery, though, so I more or less waved my finger around over a map and ended up here. How 'bout you?" he countered. "Bayville born and raised, or an import?"

"A little of each," she admitted with a shrug. There was something he wasn't saying, she suspected, but if he was a mutant, it was entirely possible he'd come here because of that, given all the media exposure the Institute had had over the past few years. "I'm originally from Annadale-on-Hudson, but I've been going to school in Bayville for years, so it seems more like home than home does, if that makes sense."

"Yeah, it does," he replied, dropping his eyes to his coffee for a moment before raising them again and eyeing her critically. "You don't look like you're old enough to have been in college for years, though, unless my age-reading-ability has seriously slipped."

Jean laughed and shook her head. "Hardly. I went to a kind of boarding school here – maybe you've heard of the Xavier Institute?" she asked casually, and saw a quick flash of recognition before he shook his head.

So, he _had_ heard of it. Which could mean several things, really. It was just a matter of which, and why he was lying about it.

"I don't think so," he said with a smile and a light shrug of his shoulders, but the impression that he was hiding something grew stronger. "So you said it was some kind of boarding school or something?"

"Or something," she agreed. "It's a school for the gifted."

Chris laughed and shook his head. "No, never heard of it then. I'm about as un-gifted as it gets – I got through high school by the skin of my teeth, and spent my first couple years of college goofing around rather than studying." His smile faded as he grimaced and shook his head. "This time I'm going to get it right, though. I'm getting a little too old for the party scene anyway."

Jean rolled her eyes, not bothering to correct his misconceptions – or pretended ones – about the Institute. He'd heard of it, he had to know what it was. But they'd had students come before who denied having any knowledge of the place, despite the fact they'd hitchhiked hundreds of miles to get there, and she could understand why. Luckily, the Professor had found her when her powers first manifested. Mutants who lived in denial often kept trying to deny, even after there was no reason for them to. "Oh right," she said instead. "You're all of about 22, I'd guess? There are a lot of students here older than that – I have several in my classes. I don't think they're going to be measuring you for a cane just yet."

Chris shook his head. "Twenty-four, actually – which is pretty old for a full-time undergrad, and I know it. But I want to get my degree finished up, move on to grad school if I can get into one. Unfortunately," he added with a roll of his eyes, "I didn't end up with a full time schedule anyway – the hazard of coming in after the semester started. But it might be good to ease back in anyway."

Jean nodded approvingly. "It might, actually, if you've been away for a while. What's your major?" she asked, eyeing him curiously. "I'm guessing something in liberal arts?"

He let out a snort of amusement and shook his head. "I should tell you it's accounting, just to see what you'd say, but it's psychology. Always wanted to know what made people tick," he shrugged self-consciously as if expecting her to make some sort of negative comment.

Instead, she nodded again. "It's a fascinating area," she agreed honestly. "I'm pre-Med, myself, but I have classes in the psych department. One of which," she sighed, "I _should_ be getting home to study for – I have an exam tomorrow."

"Awww, and here we never even got to a tour," he protested, then made a face as he glanced to the window, which revealed that the rain hadn't abated in the least. "On second thought, it might not be the best evening for that, anyway. Tell you what, meet me for lunch tomorrow," he suggested, raising his eyebrows hopefully. "I'll buy, and you can give me the full scoop on the campus and the psych department – or whatever you know about it," he inserted quickly as she opened her mouth to protest that she really didn't have that much information. "I mean, I'm just starting out here, and I can use all the help I can get."

The puppy dog eyes would've sold her, she had to admit, even if she hadn't been interested in seeing him again for other reasons. But she put up a token look of resignation as she got to her feet and smiled. "Okay, it's a deal, but we'll split the tab – I'll clue you in on what little I know about the psych department, and you tell me about Seattle." And other things she thought _loudly_, not projecting but simply pushing it toward the front of her mind, where he'd be sure to see it if he were looking. She wasn't sure whether or not she was disappointed when he simply nodded and got to his feet as well.

"Fair enough. Meet you here at noon?" he suggested as he bent down to retrieve his backpack.

Jean shook her head. "Make it 12:30, okay? I've got a class that runs until quarter after." Smiling warmly, she extended her hand, surprised to find that his was harder than she would have expected. "It's been nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Jean," he replied, and once again she caught a trace of that same look of recognition that she'd noticed when he'd first bumped into her. "Sorry again about your pants."

She shrugged her shoulders and chuckled. "Well, they're nearly dry, just in time to go back out and get soaked again. But I appreciate the thought, anyway. I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said, tossing one last wave in his direction before picking up her coffee cup and turning to head toward the doors. At least it wasdark enough by now that no one would notice if she kept the rain at bay.

She glanced back, once more, just inside the doors, and caught sight of Chris staring into his coffee. He was definitely a mystery. One that she fully intended to get to the bottom of. She just hoped that when she found out his secret, it wasn't one that would destroy the very tentative friendship that seemed to be developing between them.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 2

**From the Ashes**

**Chapter 2

* * *

**

Bobby tossed restlessly for some time before cracking one eye open to check the blinking display on the alarm clock, then pulled the pillow over his head. Five a.m. Apparently, overcoming the accumulated abuse of years of early morning training sessions was going to be more difficult than he'd expected.

Or it could just be that this was, quite possibly, the lumpiest bed in the seediest motel Bayville had to offer. The ache in his shoulders and back definitely leaned toward that as a viable option.

Sighing, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes, then rolled his head back, trying to work out some of the kinks. At least he had most of today to find some place decent to live. Spending another night at the Crawford Street Motel wasn't something he was willing to do, though by the time he'd arrived the night before he'd been happy enough to simply find somewhere to sleep, period.

Of course, that had probably had a lot to do with the fact that he'd stayed at the student union until nearly midnight, thinking and drinking one coffee after another. But he wasn't sure he would've been able to sleep earlier, anyway. Not after having bumped into Jean. Literally.

Shaking his head as if to push the thoughts away, he grudgingly threw off the age-thinned sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat there for a moment longer before finally pushing himself up and heading over to the window. The reality of what exactly he'd irreversibly done had sunk in after Jean had headed off into the rain the night before, and he couldn't help but wish that there was someone here he could talk to about it all.

Of course, he admitted to himself as he pulled the drape aside and peered out at the barely brightening sky, if there was someone else here to talk to, he probably wouldn't need to.

Jean was everything he'd remembered…and then some. She'd always been his big sister in so many ways – the one he'd gone to with his problems, the one who'd helped him get his powers under control, the one who'd smacked him down, occasionally literally, when he pushed things just a bit too far. He'd remembered her as warm, and caring, and hot-tempered…

He hadn't remembered just how beautiful she was, though, and it was something that was more than a little disconcerting to be noticing now.

He pushed that thought aside as well as he let the drapes fall shut, and headed over to the duffel bag he devoutly hoped hadn't been invaded by any new inhabitants while he was sleeping. Unzipping it cautiously, he pulled out what was, to all appearances, a plain bound journal. He pressed his thumb to the clasp for the requisite five seconds and waited for it to verify his identity and pop open.

Best Christmas present Forge had ever given him. Barring his younger self, who would hopefully never get anywhere near it, no one except him would ever be able to open it, which made it ideal for his purposes now. Someone thumbing through his journal at this point would either think he was writing a bad sci-fi novel, or wonder if he'd lost his mind, and he didn't really want to risk the latter.

Though he kind of had to wonder if maybe, just possibly, he had.

Shaking his head, he carried the journal over to the bed and plopped down to lean against the worn headboard, ignoring the rather ominous creaking sound that the bed emitted. He'd never used the journal before, never felt the need when Live Journal not only allowed him to get his thoughts in order but to get feedback on them from his friends. Unfortunately, 'Chris' had neither internet access nor a laptop, so this was going to have to do. Fishing the pen out the loop it slipped into, he bent his knees to serve as a tabletop and began writing.

_September 20, 2005_

_Dear Journal,_

Bobby paused for a moment, then shook his head, a wry grin forming on his face. Scratching out the word journal, he replaced it with "Jubes". Maybe this'd be easier if he was writing _to_ someone, and his long-term correspondent was probably just about perfect. At least he'd already had years of practice dumping all over her, even if this time she'd probably never have the opportunity to read it.

_Remember when Scott used to say I'd never, ever amount to anything unless I got serious and made the tough decisions? Well, I guess I've finally done it – I think I've probably made the toughest, most irreversible decision of my life. And he's not even around to tell me this is _not_ what he had in mind. _

_That could change, though – I mean, that's the whole idea behind this little time jaunt. I'm out to change the past, and thanks to some help from our favorite self-styled sorceress, I'm writing this from back in 2005. From that crappy motel we threw Sam's 21st birthday party at – and yes, it's just as bad now as it will be in four years. Possibly worse, though I've gotta admit that my memories of that night are pretty blurry. Probably due to whatever that crap was that you brought from LA that we were doing shots of – I never did find out what it was, but it definitely packed a punch. I remember Tabby and I…_

_Damn, this isn't what I want to talk about, but you know me, Jubes, I never do just get to the point, do I? _

_The point, then. This seemed like a really awesome idea when I thought of it way back when, but now I'm not so sure. I mean, what the hell am I going to be able to do to stop what's coming? Ororo may say one person can make all the difference…but in this case, that one person has all of two months to do it, and no clue as to what he's doing. And let's face it, none of my past schemes ever went quite as expected. I might just make things worse._

He paused again, staring at the last words he'd written without really seeing them. Because actually, that was a distinct possibility, one he really hadn't considered. What if he _did_ change the past…but made things even worse than they'd been when he left? He sighed and rolled his head back against the headboard, his eyes closing as he contemplated that possibility. What right did he have to do this, when it came right down to it?

The answer…none. But he was already committed. If he understood anything from all the crappy sci-fi shows Sam had subjected him to over the years, it was that his presence here had already started changing things, ones that would spread out like ripples in a pond when you threw in a stone. Something as simple as making Jean get a stain on her pants could have repercussions, and he had no way of knowing what they'd be.

His mind flashed back to the expressions on his friends' faces when they'd seen the original Institute burned to the ground by the so-called Friends of Humanity. To Jubilee's, her jaw clenched as she fought back the tears she adamantly refused to shed in public, as they stood side by side at the memorial service they'd held for Ray and the others in Seattle sometime later. If somehow he could prevent _that_, the future could only be better. And Jean was the key.

He reopened his eyes and turned back to his journal, picking up the pen he hadn't even realized had slid from his fingers.

_Illyana figures on picking me up in a couple months – I'm not counting on it. One way or another, things are going to change, and there's no guarantee that she'll even remember I'm here, let alone be able to come get me. I knew that going in, even if she didn't. Which means I'm never gonna know if I succeeded or not, not really. But I figure if somehow, I can just save Jean, hopefully everything else'll fall into place. Optimistic, I know, but…it had to be tried, y'know? Someone had to, and let's face it – even if nothing changes, I'm likely the one to be least missed from the fight, so I'm the perfect candidate._

_I miss you guys already, though, and it hit last night – I'm probably never going to see any of you again. Oh, I'll see _you_, I'm guessing. Sooner or later I'm going to have to bite the bullet and visit the Institute. But it's never going to be the same again. There's a _me _here already, having migraines and hanging with Sam, making Scott's life miserable. He's the one who'll come meet you at the airport next month when you finally get your butt back where it belongs. Not me._

_Stayed at the Union last night, drinking large quantities of coffee and trying not to think about that. Harder than I expected, but I had other stuff to think about. I ran into Jeannie last night._

_Jubes, she looked just like I remember her – well, other than shorter. Apparently I finally got taller than her, even if it's only about an inch. It was all I could do not to give her the hug of her life when I bumped into her, but I settled for buying her coffee._

_She knows something's up, though – I must've slipped up somewhere, because I felt her poking at my shields. Luckily, they're stronger than she is, though I'm pretty sure that'll change soon enough. At least I guessed right about her not recognizing my mental signature; it changed pretty drastically once I got control over my powers, and that hasn't happened yet, here. Soon, though, so I don't have much time._

_I don't have much time, anyway. Despite Jeannie's shields, I could feel the tension already building. She's exhausted, she's unhappy, she's worried…_

_I'm having lunch with her today. After I find somewhere to live that doesn't come complete with crawling roommates. Jeannie needs a friend, one who can listen and understand. I tried, back then (or…now, god I hate talking about time travel), but I was too young, and too wrapped up in the changes I was going through. Hopefully, "Chris" will have better luck._

_If not, this'll all be for nothing._

Bobby popped the top on the pen to close it and slipped it back into its holder, then closed the journal with a click.

Somehow, writing it all down hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped. But it'd helped a little, at least.

He swung his legs off the bed, pushed himself to his feet, then carried the journal back over to his duffel bag and stuffed it inside. Time for a shower, then apartment and job hunting. If nothing else could be said for waking up at 5:00 a.m., he had plenty of time before lunch.

* * *

Jean yawned and scrubbed her hand through her unruly hair as she made her way into the Institute's kitchen. A quick glance at the clock confirmed what she'd more than half expected; she'd missed the team's morning training session, by virtue of having been so exhausted she'd slept straight through her alarm. A surge of guilt flooded over her and she sighed. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pace, and staying up until 2:00 a.m. studying for today's exam had pushed her over the edge into total exhaustion.

It was just one training session though, she reminded herself as she crossed the room and helped herself to one of the mugs stacked on the countertop, then filled it with coffee. Just one, and she hadn't even overslept by that much. She'd make up for it by taking her coffee and bagel to her office, spend breakfast pouring her way through some of the reports that had piled up there and reviewing her day planner.

Before she could do more than head for the refrigerator, however, she heard a voice behind her and turned to see Scott enter the room, followed closely by Kitty and Kurt.

"Hey Jean, missed you this morning," Kitty said brightly and with far too much enthusiasm, given how recently Jean had climbed out of bed.

"Ja, decide to sleep in?" Kurt asked with an impish grin as he headed straight for the fridge and immediately began assembling the oddest collection of food imaginable on the countertop. "Very nice. I wish _I _was one of the high and mighty college students who had that as an option."

"Well, if you don't get your homework finished up quick, Fuzzy, you won't have to worry about that next year, either," Kitty quipped as she snitched the last of the bagels off the ever growing pile.

Jean opened her mouth to protest, then closed it and shook her head. It really wasn't worth the debate that would ensue. All in jest, of course, but she really didn't feel up to it this morning.

"Are you feeling okay?" Scott asked softly as he stepped up beside her, and Jean directed a tired but hopefully reassuring smile toward him.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a little worn out – I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning studying."

Scott frowned, and Jean could feel a trace of concern trickle through their link. "I thought you had study group after class," he said. "Was it cancelled?"

"No, just missed it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I got out of class late, and then I had a bit of a run in on the quad. Literally."

"More pro-human protestors?" Scott guessed.

She shook her head and forced a smile, fighting an urge to point out that no, not every misadventure in life had to necessarily do with mutants, mutant haters, or power malfunctions. Especially since she was fairly sure that it _had_ involved a mutant, just not in the way Scott would necessarily expect.

"No, actually, I was knocked to the ground in the age-old tradition of not watching where I was going," she joked lightly. "I ran into someone – or he ran into me. I still haven't quite decided which, given the fact it was pretty obvious neither of us were paying attention to anything other than getting out of the rain. In any case, my pants paid the price, so he bought me a cup of coffee to apologize." Belatedly remembering that she was holding her coffee mug in her hand, she raised it to her lips and sipped at it cautiously. With Logan gone, the coffee was sometimes of dubious quality, depending on who brewed the first post.

This time, she decided as she made a face and set the mug down on the counter, someone had apparently outdone him or herself. She resolved to check with Jamie to determine whether or not he had any missing socks. Whatever the mystery ingredient might be, it was _definitely_ not coffee.

She felt a trace of annoyance seep through their link, and turned back to look at Scott, puzzled. Granted, she hadn't been paying much attention to whatever conversation Kitty and Kurt were having across the kitchen, but it hadn't sounded as if it were anything to be upset about. His expression and stance weren't reassuring, however, and instead of him glowering at Kurt as she'd half expected, his irritation seemed to be directed at her.

What's wrong? she demanded impatiently, more annoyed by his reaction than she probably should be. But she was tired, she had a full day ahead of her, and she had no idea what Scott could possibly be annoyed about, unless… Look, I'm sorry I missed practice this morning, but –

You went out for coffee with some guy who knocked you down in the quad? Scott interrupted. What were you thinking?

That I was cold and wet and wanted coffee? she countered, amazed by his reaction. Honestly, you'd think she'd run off and eloped with Chris, rather than had a cup of coffee in the Union. Why, are you jealous?

No, of course not, Scott replied, and she was astonished and a bit hurt to realize that he honestly wasn't. At least that would have added a vaguely endearing element to a conversation that was already deteriorating rapidly. But you said you were going to your study group, not out for coffee with some guy you don't even know. If you weren't going to study, I would've thought you would've come back home.

The coffee cup on the counter rattled ominously, and for once, she honestly didn't care that her TK was working overtime. I _did_ come back home, she argued, glaring at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. I had one lousy cup of coffee, with a really nice Psych student, and then _came home_. When did this become some sort of crime?

Well, you've been complaining about how tired you are, and instead of coming home and getting some rest so you'd be up for the session this morning -

Before Scott could finish that thought, Jean cut in, so annoyed she was trembling. _That's_ what this is about? she asked, disbelief obvious in her mental tone. That I missed a _training session_?

You've got responsibilities! Scott argued. What do you think the Professor -

I _know_ I've got responsibilities, Jean countered irritably, barely noting that other objects throughout the kitchen were now rattling too, or that Kurt and Kitty's conversation had come to an abrupt halt. And at the moment, she didn't much care. How _dare_ he lecture her on her commitments, as if she were 13 years old and new to the Institute? As if she didn't spend nearly every waking moment trying to keep up with her ever-growing list of responsibilities. It wasn't fair, and dragging the Professor into what was obviously just a totally unreasonable reaction to her stopping off for a cup of coffee was nothing short of -

Jean, calm down, you're shaking the kitchen, Scott pointed out.

Her anger peaked, then was abruptly replaced by alarm as the coffee pot exploded, spraying bits of glass and scorching coffee around the room. Trembling, she caught the majority of the glass fragments midair and focused on floating them over to the garbage can while avoiding Scott's eyes.

"You know Jean, all you had to do was _ask_ if you wanted new coffee, ja?" Kurt quipped, concern evident in his voice despite the lighthearted remark.

Jean directed a wan smile in his direction and Kitty's, noting that they both looked concerned. "Sorry. Too much caffeine, too little sleep," she said by way of explanation, despite the fact she'd barely touched her coffee.

Are you okay? Scott asked through her link, his tone changing to one of concern, a momentary return to the Scott Summers she'd fallen in love with years before. A little too late, in her opinion, but reassuring nonetheless.

I'm fine, she replied, trying to send some reassurance she honestly didn't feel through their link. Embarrassed. I haven't done anything like that in ages.

But you are now, he observed. That's what I was saying. You need to work on your control…

That was it. Directing one last glare in his direction, she deliberately caused the coffee in his cup to overflow, spilling onto his shirt.

My control's just fine, she snapped mentally as she turned and left the kitchen, blinking away tears of anger, exhaustion, and embarrassment. Thanks so much for your concern.

She could feel Scott poised to reply, but she wasn't going to listen to any more of it and pressed a mental mute button on their link, knowing full well it would just infuriate him more. She didn't care. Not this morning. Not when it was becoming increasingly obvious that it wasn't actually _her_ he was worried about at all, but simply how she might be becoming a liability to the team.

She made it back to her office without further incident, and set down her coffee so hard that it splashed, spreading a sepia stain on her notepad. Sighing, she focused and drew the moisture out of the pad, sending the drips over to her plant on the windowsill that seemed to thrive on the remnants of her coffee cups, when she didn't have time to dump them in the kitchen. If this was a sign of how her day was going to progress, maybe she should just go back to bed.

Sadly, that wasn't an option, and she sat down at her computer to pull up her schedule, ignoring the growing pile of training reports and such that seemed to be glaring at her from the corner of her desk. She'd missed the team training session, obviously – the next item on the agenda was a session with Bobby in her office, so at least she was in the right place for that. He could be depended upon to be late, so she undoubtedly had a little time…

A soft rap at the door proved the error in that theory, and she looked up to see her next appointment enter. Pale, slump-shouldered, and bleary-eyed, Bobby looked worse than she felt. Not surprising, considering the pain that was pouring off him in waves. "Are you okay, kiddo?" she asked softly, her voice pitched low so as to not aggravate his far too obvious headache.

"Hey Jeannie," he said, not answering her question but forcing a faint semblance of his usual grin. "Sorry I'm early, I know you're busy. Any chance you have any more of those pills Mr. McCoy gave me last time?" he asked hopefully, squinting at her as if afraid to open his eyes any further.

"Headache's back, huh?" she asked, trying to remember just when he'd gotten the medication from Hank, and how many had been in the bottle. They were highly potent – she'd used them herself in the past, when she'd had problems with her telepathy. And she was fairly sure if he'd been using them sparingly, he wouldn't be out of them yet.

"With a vengeance," he admitted, re-closing his eyes. "I made it through half of practice this morning, then bugged out. Fearless Leader Man was hotter than hell, said I was looking for excuses to go back to bed."

Jean bristled, then sent a mental You are _such_ an ass to Scott through their link, adding a stay out of it in response to his bewildered query. Honestly, she would have thought he might actually have thought to get Hank down there to check things out.

"It'll be okay," she assured Bobby, her voice tight with suppressed annoyance, then sighed. If Scott wasn't going to do his job, apparently that was going to fall to her, too. "Let's get you down to Hank, he can check it out, see if you need some more pills," she said as she got to her feet. But much to her surprise, Bobby shook his head.

"Mr. McCoy's not here," he explained. "He left last night – had some sort of meeting on Muir with Dr. MacTaggert. I really did try him first," he explained, his mouth quirking sideways. "I know you're pretty busy these days."

Jean sighed and shook her head. It was nothing but the truth, but if the younger students started to think they couldn't come to her, who were they going to go _to_? "Not too busy for you, Bobby. You should know that. You win, though - I'll give you one out of my personal stash," she joked feebly, gesturing him into a chair as she reached into her desk drawer to rummage for the small bottle of pills.

"Or two, maybe?" he asked, and she look at him with alarm. Something in her face must have registered, because he shook his head. "Not for now. But I've got a test this afternoon, and the dumb things wear off too quick."

"Bobby…how many have you been taking?" she asked, a little more forcefully than she might have under other circumstances. But they were talking about high dosage migraine medication, and he had just confessed to taking at least two a day. And having a pretty decisive knowledge of just how long they lasted.

"Three, sometimes four?" he shrugged. "C'mon, Jeannie, don't lecture. It's been a really bad week. You _know_ I don't like pills – if I didn't need them, I wouldn't take them."

"I know," she replied, pulling out the bottle slowly. It was true – Bobby normally had to be coerced into taking allergy meds in spring, despite the fact he was sneezing so violently that he couldn't see and ended up randomly icing bits of the landscape. For him to be taking medication in this quantity indicated something was very, very wrong – something that had nothing to do with Scott's allegations that the younger boy simply wanted to sleep in. Finally, she poured a few of the red capsules into her hand and extended them to Bobby, closing her fingers around them as he reached for them and meeting his eyes with a deliberate look.

"_Only_ if you promise to see Hank as soon as he gets back," she insisted, her eyebrows arching as she watched Bobby's face for any sign that he was going to promise and then hedge his way out later. It only fed her concern, however, when he dropped his eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I will. I promise. Just let me get through this History test with my head intact, okay? My grades in there are sucking big time."

Jean's mouth curled into a smile and she shook her head. "More studying for you, kiddo," she said as she poured the pills into his outstretched hand, then paused a moment, considering. "In fact, I think you need more time to study for it – _and_ more rest." Ignoring his puzzled look, she picked up the phone and pressed the auto-dial on her phone where she'd stored Bayville High's office number.

"Jeannie, what're you up to…?" he asked, and she looked up from the phone to see a trace of his customary grin in place, mingled with equal parts of confusion and curiosity.

"No reason we both need to be half-awake and miserable today," she told him, waving away his attempts at a response as the high school's voicemail answered the call. "Yes, this is Ms. Grey of the Xavier Institute," she said calmly once the obligatory beep sounded. "Would you please inform Robert Drake's teachers that he won't be in today? Thank you."

"You're the best," Bobby informed her seriously as she returned the receiver to its base.

Jean rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture. "Get yourself back to bed," she insisted with a gentle smile. "Get some sleep for me too, okay?"

Instead of Bobby making for the door as she'd more than half expected, he cocked his head, a curious expression on his face. "You sure you're okay, Jeannie?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him, wondering just what was giving her away. Exhaustion was her lot in life these days, and he couldn't possibly have already heard about the altercation with Scott in the kitchen. "Go on, sleep and homework."

Bobby cast a doubtful look her way as he headed toward the door. "I will. Y'know…if you need to talk, you know where to find me, right? I mean, you do it for me all the time. Might as well let me pay you back."

"I'll remember that," she assured him, arching an eyebrow at his back as he gave her one last smile and headed out the door. Something odd was going on with that boy, and if only she could lay her finger on _what…_

Sighing, she turned back to her day planner. Time to add "figure out why Bobby Drake is suddenly being intuitive" into this week's schedule. As if it weren't full enough already.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The X-Men are copyright Marvel Comics, and X-Men Evolution is owned by Kids WB, I think. In any case, I don't own either.

Merry Christmas, a little late, to Jen1703 and Escaflowne, both of whom requested the next chapter of FtA for their present! And thanks, as always, to Jen for awesome beta-ing!

**From the Ashes**

**Chapter 3**

Bobby glanced down at his wrist for what was probably the tenth time in the last five minutes, then sighed and let his shoulders slump. It was 12:45. If Jean were going to show, she would have already; he couldn't remember her ever having been late for anything. Of course, he also couldn't remember her ever having stood anyone up, but since he honestly couldn't say he'd ever gone on a date with her, he wasn't sure how accurate his recollection was.

Not that this was a date, of course. But he supposed that was a closer analogy than "pseudo-younger brother tagging along", which pretty much summed up any appointment he'd had with Jean in the past.

"I'm sorry I'm late," a familiar but breathless voice announced behind him, and he nearly tipped over his chair as he whipped around in his seat. Jean looked stressed, he decided, feeling a surge of concern that caused his forehead to crease before he deliberately pushed it aside and smiled up at her.

"No big, it gave me a chance to look over my homework," he assured her, gesturing toward the vacant chair beside his. He glanced at the table, still littered with his Experimental Psychiatry book and syllabus, then scrambled to his feet and began pushing them together.

Before he'd gotten too far with the process, Jean plucked the course outline out of his hands and sat down, not in the chair he'd indicated but the one across from him.

"How did you manage to get stuck with Dr. Milligan?" she asked, her nose wrinkling as she looked over the papers.

"Only session still open – why, is he that bad?" he asked apprehensively. His worst suspicions were confirmed as Jean nodded, and he sighed. "Well, that explains how I got into the class this late in the game. At least he gave me all the assignments so I could get started on them before the first class."

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to catch up _in _class," she assured him. "He falls asleep regularly. When's your first session?" she asked curiously, looking back down at the syllabus.

Bobby shook his head and grinned. "All questions called on account of hunger," he replied, gesturing toward the counter serving an array of food that appeared mediocre at best. "What would you like?" he asked, then waved off her protestations before she had a chance to voice them. "I told you I'd buy, remember? In exchange for services rendered."

"Just what kind of services are we talking about?" Jean replied, arching an eyebrow.

Bobby felt his stomach do a nervous twitch. The eyebrow thing…it had been so long since he'd seen her do that he felt an odd sense of déjà vu, one resulting in a nearly overwhelming impulse to give her the hug of her life and explain just how glad he was to see her again. He brushed it aside with some difficulty, and instead forced a laugh and shook his head. "Now, that'd be telling," he replied with a near approximation of a wolfish grin, then chuckled. "Tour of the campus? If you don't have time today, we can schedule it whenever it's convenient…"

Her eyes narrowed a touch, and he watched as she seemed to study his face. "If you managed to find Dr. Milligan's office, I'm not at all sure you _need_ a tour," she pointed out.

Bobby pouted. "Sure. Just because I ask five people directions and try three different buildings, I get gypped out of my tour. I see how this works. Now, what do you want for lunch?"

Jean sighed, a trace of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "A grilled chicken salad with ranch dressing?" she requested, then reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of water. "I've got a drink already; I'd rather finish this up before it gets warm anyway."

Biting back an urge to offer refrigeration services that would have been totally inappropriate in his current persona, he just grinned. "Okay, one salad. Anything else?"

She shook her head and smiled, and once more Bobby felt his stomach twist. "That's it. I'd like to be able to get into those pants I was wearing yesterday, assuming I can get the stains out."

A slow grin spread on Bobby's face as she mentioned getting into her pants, but he shook his head when she finished speaking. "That one's way, way too easy," he told her with a wink. He turned and made his way to the counter before she could reply, accompanied by mingled feelings of embarrassment and amusement that were seeping their way through her shields.

Apparently, he noted with a mischievous grin as he stepped up to place his order, some things never changed.

By the time he returned to the table with his tray, Jean had completely composed herself and was flipping through his book. "I took this last semester," she said apologetically, snapping the book shut and setting it aside. "I still have my notes, if you want to borrow them; I had a different professor, but she covered the same material as what Dr. Milligan has listed in your syllabus."

"I'd appreciate that," he admitted as he set the tray down on the table and slipped into his seat. "I'm not gonna lie – this whole thing," he gestured around the union with one arm while plucking a French fry from the tray with the other, "has me more than a little nervous, even without sleep-prone Professors whose classes I start in on three weeks late."

"Why did you get here so late?" Jean asked with an air of nonchalance that was just a little _too _casual to be genuine. "You mentioned waving your finger over a map?"

Bobby laughed, then nodded as he popped his French fry into his mouth. "I did," he admitted after he'd swallowed. "But I did it a month ago. Should've gotten here in time for registration; all my paperwork was in on time. But I had some transportation problems." All of which was true, in a manner of speaking. The computers, thanks to a late night hack from the internet café in town, would show that his transfer documents had been received the month before. And if Illyana's mistiming couldn't be construed as transportation difficulties, he wasn't sure what could.

He felt an itching sensation in his forehead, and forced himself to ignore it. If Jean wanted to have fun poking around at his shields, that was fine with him. He'd learned how to construct them from her and spent years reinforcing them since; he really doubted she was going to get through them now.

"Car trouble?" she asked, giving no sign that she'd been up to any attempts at telepathic nosiness.

"If I reply that I don't have a car anymore, will that answer your question?" he asked glumly as he unwrapped his cheeseburger and took a bite. Which was a bummer, actually. A car would be really nice, but he couldn't manage to justify the expense, even to himself. Until his job hunt came through he was going to have to be get by on the money he'd brought with him from the future. It was enough to live on for a couple of months, but he wasn't going to waste it on non-essentials.

Jean frowned, and for a moment, Bobby thought he'd given something away. Belatedly he noticed that instead of her eyes being fixed on him, she was looking over his shoulder, and he turned just as she let out a sigh of disgust.

"That's who I thought it was," she observed, then sighed again, this time with resignation. "Do you want to cut lunch short? I have a feeling I'm going to lose my appetite."

Bobby frowned and was about to ask why, but then saw that the students Jean was watching were affixing a sign to one of the tables reserved for campus organizations that declared them the Friends of Humanity. He froze, his burger somehow transforming to sawdust in his mouth. An almost physical need to run and hide overtook him, until he remembered that the FoH were still a radical fringe group at this point in history. One without government backing or the technology they'd used in the future to identify mutant bio signs in a crowd.

Still…

"Yeah, leaving sounds good to me," he replied as he got to his feet and began collecting his lunch, bundling it into its original wrappers to make it more portable. "Want to take this to go?" he asked on the off-chance that he'd be able to summon up some sort of appetite once they were well away. He was inclined to doubt it. Radical fringe group or no, the FoH were responsible, directly or indirectly, for the deaths of a lot of people he'd called friends.

The fact that they'd drawn a huge amount of support due to the actions of the girl across the table, who was nodding and gathering up her salad…yeah. The likelihood of him regaining his appetite at this point was slim to none.

* * *

Jean watched Chris's face out of the corner of her eye as they headed down the wooden stairway to an outdoor eating area, noting that it was beginning to regain the color it had lost when he'd seen the human rights group set up shop in the Union. If she'd had any doubts as to whether or not he was a mutant, his desire for a hasty departure had dispelled them.

Not that she'd had any desire to argue. She raised the hand not holding her plastic salad container to rub at her temple, trying to dispel the tension headache she'd had since her run-in with Scott that morning. The presence of the FoH hadn't helped any, pushing her shields to their limits, and she knew full well they'd chosen their table location on purpose. As a known mutant, she'd been the focus of their attention several times in the past, and a quick peek into their leader's mind had confirmed that they were planning to up the ante and single her out as an example of "mutants in our midst".

As Scott had predicted. There were days when she really, really hated when he was right.

She felt a light brush of fingers on her arm, and realized belatedly that she'd stopped moving.

"You okay?" Chris asked, his voice soft and concerned.

"Just a headache," she replied, making a slight dismissive gesture with her hand as she looked up and met his eyes.

"Yeah, they have that effect on me, too," he replied vaguely. Chris frowned, then reached up and rested his hand on her back. "C'mon, there are some benches just up ahead; you'll feel better if you sit down and have something to eat."

"I'm fine," Jean protested, but let him steer her down the next flight of stairs to a wooden platform hosting a number of benches around its perimeter as well as a few picnic tables in the middle. As she'd half-expected, the tables were filled with students enjoying the moderate weather after the rain of the previous few days, but there was an empty bench on one side. With evident relief, she sat down on it and set her salad down beside her.

"Y'know, it'd probably help your headache if you ate something," he observed with a smile that was more than a little forced as he sat down on the other side of the bench and set his lunch beside hers.

"You're an expert?" she countered with a weak smile of her own.

"You could say that," Chris replied. His eyes, still clouded with concern and an emotion she couldn't quite place, nonetheless twinkled with a trace of mischief.

Jean rolled her eyes. "Do you ever actually answer a question?" she asked curiously.

"But where would be the fun in that? Here's one for you - do you ever actually ask the ones you want the answer to?" he countered as he unwrapped his fries, frowned, and took a bite of one with all the enthusiasm of someone being told they had a Danger Room session with Logan scheduled for 4:00 am.

She grimaced. "Okay, you might have a point," she admitted, grudgingly popping the lid of her salad container and plucking out a piece of lettuce. "But I'm not sure how to ask –"

"Yes, I'm a mutant," Chris said quietly, then laughed as her jaw dropped. "Oh, that was priceless…"

"Well, I guess I can answer what sort of gift you have, then," she replied with only a trace of annoyance. She took a sort of mental inventory, checking to see if her shields were really so shredded that someone she'd practically just met could see straight through them.

They weren't. Jean frowned and looked back up from her salad to see Chris shaking his head.

"You'd be wrong, probably," he shrugged. "It was just pretty obvious you wanted to ask. I guess I gave myself away by hurrying you out of the Union like that, but, well, your buddies in there sort of give me the creeps."

"Not my buddies," she protested sharply, then sighed and rubbed at her forehead again. "Right. Sarcasm. On a better day, I would have caught that."

"I don't imagine much gets past you," he replied with a shrug, then smiled. "So, you wanted to ask another question?"

"Are we playing twenty questions, then?" she countered with a trace of a smile.

"If you want to," Chris said nonchalantly as he picked up another fry.

He seemed amused by the prospect, Jean decided, and she couldn't help but smile more genuinely. Her headache, much to her surprise, seemed to be fading, and she leaned against the side of the bench and crossed one leg over the other so that she was facing him. "Fine. Precog, then? Since you know what I'm going to say before I say it."

"Nope. You're just obvious," Chris replied with a smirk and waved a French fry at her before popping it into his mouth.

"I am not!" she hmphed indignantly. Was she? Scott seemed to have a hard enough time figuring out what she was thinking these days, even with the benefit of their link, so she rather doubted it. "Fine, not a precog. Hmmm…"

"Don't think too hard, it'll make your head hurt," he advised.

Jean rolled her eyes. "My headache's better, actually," she observed as she plucked out another piece of lettuce. "You seem awfully full of medical advice, though – are you sure you're a psych major, and not pre-med?"

"I'm positive," he assured her, then grinned. "Which should give you a clue, right there."

She frowned and mulled that over for a moment. If, as he implied, his choice had had something to do with his mutant ability, him being a psych major suggested some sort of telepathy. Chris had already ruled that out, or…had he? She'd never actually guessed that; he'd just said she'd probably be wrong.

"Telepath?" she tried without much confidence.

He sighed and shook his head with feigned disappointment. "Nope. Still feeling stressed?" he asked in a deliberate change of subject.

"Not really," she admitted, then paused. She wasn't – which was distinctly odd now that she thought about it. And while she could chalk part of that up to the change of scenery, it didn't alter the fact that she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks; very unusual, given the circumstances and the fact that she was sitting here chatting casually with a mutant she barely knew, who kept trying to change the subject away from his abilities.

Or…was it a deliberate change of subject? He'd been dropping odd hints all along, and she tried fitting them together. A psych major, not telepathic, but with shields far stronger than her own, indicating to her mind that he'd had experience keeping something or someone out.

It wasn't adding up. So after a moment's consideration, Jean asked, "What area of Psychiatry do you find the most interesting?"

A grin split his face, and Chris nodded. "Now you're thinking. Umm, human emotional response to various stimuli," he answered after a moment's consideration, then sighed. "Something I was _hoping_ to learn more about in Experimental Psychiatry, but I suppose I'm out of luck there."

Jean smiled and shrugged sympathetically while considering his answer. Feelings, then. Not her forte, as she tended to be inundated with other people's thoughts rather than their emotional state. A vague memory nagged at the back of her mind, something the Professor had been discussing with Moira MacTaggert, about a young girl she'd encountered in Ireland. She'd been interested in the case, because she'd never met someone with those particular powers…

Jean smiled, confident that she'd found the answer. "You're an empath," she stated with conviction. "Is that why my headache is gone?"

Chris shrugged and grinned a bit awkwardly. "Well, you were stressed. I'm not much at projecting, but I figured it was worth a shot."

Jean gave him a look that clearly expressed her disbelief as to the extent of his abilities, then eyed him curiously. "Is that why you lied about never having heard of the Xavier Institute?"

Much to her relief, Chris nodded, an awkward expression forming on his face. "You caught that, huh? Yeah, pretty much. I mean, you guys were all over the news last year; it would've been hard to have never heard of you. I honestly didn't recognize you when I ran you over, though," he added in his own defense, then grinned sheepishly. "That was pure serendipity."

Jean laughed. "I'm not sure I'd call it that," she observed, recalling the state of her pants. "But if you'd come all this way to visit the Institute, why didn't you just go there to begin with?"

Chris shook his head. "I didn't. I actually came here to go to college. Oh, I'd thought about looking you guys up eventually," he admitted when she gave him a skeptical look, "but I wasn't in any hurry about it. It's not like I don't have my powers under control."

"True," she mused. Which was interesting, in and of itself. Given the struggle she'd had with hers, she found it difficult to believe that he'd attained this level of mastery on his own, with his sanity apparently still intact.

"What, you don't believe me?" he asked sadly.

"Let's just say I think there's more to you than meets the eye, Chris," she retorted with an intentionally enigmatic smile, then stood up and smoothed her pants. "I think we're going to have to take a rain check on the tour, though," she said, glancing down at her wrist to confirm her suspicions. Much as she'd like to ask the million questions his revelation had created, she didn't really have time. "I have class in about fifteen minutes."

"Tomorrow?" he asked hopefully as he got to his own feet, turning puppy dog eyes on her that might've been more effective had his eyes been brown rather than blue. A practiced look, she decided, but a cute one. And while it might be some sort of side effect of his powers, or even an intentional attempt to influence her emotions, she found herself completely inclined to spend more time unraveling the mystery of Christ Knight.

Or perhaps he wasn't doing anything to influence her decision at all. As intriguing as she found the mystery surrounding Chris, she couldn't deny he was an awfully comfortable person to talk to. With that thought in mind, she nodded.

"Tomorrow. Around two?" she suggested, and felt vaguely disappointed as he shook his head.

"I've got class at 1:45," he replied apologetically. "How's 3:00 for you?"

Jean considered it for a moment. She had no afternoon classes tomorrow, just a study group until around 1:30. And while she _should_ spend the time at the Institute getting caught up on things there…well, Scott's reaction to her missed session that morning was still annoying her. If he was going to accuse her of shirking her responsibilities, she might as well do it occasionally. After a few moments' hesitation, she nodded.

"Three sounds good. Outside the Sciences building," she informed him, then turned to leave.

"Jean?" he said softly.

She turned back to see Chris smiling at her. There was a soft, sad expression in his eyes she couldn't quite define, one that disappeared so quickly she wondered if she'd imagined it. "What?"

"Thanks for lunch," he said with a shrug and a grin.

Jean smiled and rolled her eyes, then hiked her bag up onto her shoulder and headed off to class. Despite the morning's events and the afternoon's unexpected revelations, she realized that for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she didn't feel the least bit stressed at all. And while part of that was likely the effect of Chris' powers, the rest…

Well, it had turned out to be a nice lunch, after all.

* * *

_September 21, 2005 _

_Dear Jubes,_

_I never could keep a secret long._

_Oh, I can practically see you, rolling your eyes and saying, "Yeah, right, like that's a newsflash." And I realize it's not, but…_

_I would've done better, if the FoH hadn't shown up. Not the group we know, thank the Higher Power of your choice, but their predecessors; a group of college kids raising "questions" while radiating the same hate and intolerance their successors always do._

_And, well, I freaked a bit. In my defense, it would've been hard not to, knowing what's coming, what they're going to do in the next eight years. The deaths, the camps…they all start here, more or less. Or at least, I think they do._

_It's an odd situation. I mean…yeah, I know what's coming. I even know, based on what we managed to piece together after the fact, more or less what started it all, and how it played out. But…Jean didn't confide in me, then. Or anyone else, really, unless it was Scott. And since he never had the opportunity to write it all down for posterity… _

_No one really_ _knows what was going on in Jean's head. What little things added up, what clues she might have dropped that things were growing worse and worse. I don't remember her ever having mentioned the FoH setting up at a table in the Union; was it because she wasn't there to see them? Or because she just never mentioned it to me? Was it an important event in the greater scheme of things? An irritation? Or…nothing at all?_

_Did I change the future today by inviting her to lunch? Did I change it by leaving the Union with her? Or by helping her relax afterwards? And if I did…was it for the better or worse?_

_I don't know._

_In any case, my reaction to their presence was enough to let Jean know that something was up. Or to confirm it; she knew something was odd yesterday, when she couldn't get through my shields. Or before that, considering I doubt she'd have tried if she hadn't realized there was something odd, though I have no idea what. _

_I told her I'm a mutant, and about my secondary mutation. It's risky; I'll manifest it sometime soon in this timeframe, and if she puts two and two together she might figure out the rest. _

_Part of me wants her to. I admit it. I want to hear her to call me by name again, one more time. I want to be able to talk with her without weighing what I say, to tell her…everything, I guess, though I know I can't. I can't quite rid myself of my teenage confidence that Jean has the answers to everything, however much it's been proven otherwise. I wish I could just dump it all on her shoulders, ask her what I should do, even though dumping eight years of nightmare on her isn't really likely to help the situation any._

_The other part…_

Bobby looked up from his notebook and stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room he'd be vacating the following day without seeing it, then sighed and tucked the pen into its holder. This wasn't about him, and whatever he might want or not want, he had a job to do.

He just hoped he was doing it right.


End file.
